


the heart is hard to translate

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Long-Distance Relationship, Post-Game, Reunion Fluff, The Sappiest Thing I've Ever Written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: Marianne giggles, and Claude swears he hears the tinkling of bells, the chime of a love so certain that it burns quietly and bright.Claude doesn't tell Marianne he loves her before departing Fódlan. She proves to him that it's never too late to try.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Valentine's Day Lockers 2020





	the heart is hard to translate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [godofmorons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/godofmorons/gifts).



> airports see more sincere kisses than wedding halls

The Almyran ports are bursting with traders, and the sun shines so brightly that it almost casts a haze. Claude squints into the distance, skimming the crowd for his guest. Marianne's ship isn't due for another twenty minutes, but Claude has never been a patient person, and he'd shown up early just in _case_. “Can't have dear, sweet Marianne getting lost,” he'd laughed earlier when leaving the palace. His parents had rolled their eyes, trading knowing glances in response. 

All right, so perhaps they aren't completely off the mark. Considering that Marianne has visited Almyra at least ten times, and that her sense of direction is far better than Claude's, his parents have good reason to be a little suspicious. But Claude isn't quite sure that there's a need to make a grand announcement about it. He's never been one for traditional constructs of romance and courtship, and he's content to enjoy the unspoken bond that he and Marianne share. If people talk, they talk. It isn't really Claude's problem. 

A ship hums loudly as it pulls into the port. Claude perks up with an excitement that's almost embarrassing. The passengers begin to pile off the ship one by one, and Claude's gaze is trained on the exiting crowd, practically bubbling with anticipation. Soon enough, he spots a flash of soft blue.

She's dressed in a plain periwinkle dress, hair down in loose, messy waves. Marianne is slightly paler than usual, and there are bags under her eyes from what must have been a turbulent journey from Edmund territory to Almyra, but she turns towards him, and smiles. Any exhaustion on her soft features vanishes in a flash. She's so beautiful that Claude's heart almost stops. He hollers loudly, waving in her direction.

“Marianne!”

Her mouth parts to say something, and even if her voice is too soft to carry Claude can read his own name on her lips. He's so close to holding her in his arms that it could drive him wild. Claude leaps across the banister, ignoring the stares from the slack-jawed bystanders looking on: he's never done much to maintain the propriety expected of a prince, and he certainly isn't going to when he's so close to being reunited with his love. Marianne picks up her pace, rushing towards him, and once she's within hugging distance she drops her luggage on the ground. She throws her arms around Claude, smiling so sweetly that he feels like he could melt. 

Once upon a time, he'd lamented that he might never be able to make her laugh, worried that there was no way that she'd trust him no matter how hard he tried. Since then, he'd learned that the only way to gain Marianne's trust was to give her his trust in return, and he'd done so in spades, telling her his story which he'd never before dared to speak into words. And now here Marianne is, radiating with an excitement that matches Claude's own. She pulls him down to give him a small kiss on his forehead, before briefly pressing her lips against his. She giggles, and Claude swears he hears the tinkling of bells, the chime of a love so certain that it burns quietly and bright. 

Yet there is an aching desire to vocalize it, to speak of the warm feeling inside his chest that tells him that he's home, he's _really_ home. Marianne grabs her luggage off the floor, and Claude whispers a soft “I love you” into her ear, pressing a kiss to her lobe; and another “I love you” as he kisses her neck. Marianne pulls away, bumping her nose against his, and she smells like fresh fruit and spring gardens. Claude dreams of her scent every night.

“I missed you,” Marianne says, clasping her free hand with one of his. 

Claude's smiling so widely that his cheeks are starting to hurt. He sucks them in for a second, massaging the inside of his mouth with his teeth. He's not sure it's very effective. “Aw, shucks. Really? I missed you too.” 

Marianne laughs, and he's not sure if she's laughing at the funny face he just made, or if she's just that delighted to be here. Either way, Claude would face down another army of Shambalans just to protect her smile. She's become so much stronger, and so much braver since they first met, and while she might attribute this change to him he knows that it's from an inner strength that he can't even hope to match. “I take it the journey was rough, as usual,” he muses, before remembering his manners. He whirls around to face her. “Want me to grab your suitcase?”

Marianne shakes her head. “It's all right. Thank you for asking,” she says, and Claude is so, so glad that he finally knows she means it. The sparse amount of clothing that she's packed is likely nothing compared to the sheer weight of Blutgang. He nods.

“There's a carriage waiting to take us back home. So you can put your feet up, relax, and look forward to the curry waiting for you at the palace. How's that for hospitality?” 

Claude winks at her, and Marianne gives him a playful nudge in response. It's lovely that she's comfortable enough around him for gestures like this. Then again, she'd been the reason that this romance had started in the first place. In a fit of late-night insomnia, Marianne had sat up straight in bed, grabbed a quill, and written Claude an impassioned letter confessing her feelings. She'd thrown it into the post in a tired daze before realizing just exactly what she'd done a few hours later. A few days later and she'd hopped on Dorte, riding to the nearest port to take the ship in Almyra so she could face the consequences of her actions, trembling with fear and panic.

It wasn't as though Claude had been so smooth himself. For years of his life, he'd believed it was a myth that attraction was supposed to feel good-- every crush that he'd ever had made him feel sick to his stomach, like there was a pit of spiders in the depths of his gut. When he realized that he had feelings for Marianne, he'd wanted to laugh: it was too little too late, considering that he was on a boat departing Fódlan so he could return to his life as Almyran royalty. He remembered staring into the ceiling on the bed, the shaky waves of the ocean rocking him back and forth in the middle of the night, and then muttering to himself that there was no way, no chance. 

And then she sent him that letter a few months later. The rest, as nations that haven't banned the printing press might say, is history. 

Marianne squeezes Claude's hand, and the same pleasant, safe sensation spreads through his fingertips. Long gone are the days that he was afraid of his own feelings. He'd trusted Marianne with his vulnerability so long ago, and he knows that he can trust her with _this_. When everything else in his life has been an uphill struggle, a series of fighting tooth and nail and claw to get what he wants, it's terrifying to think that something as all-encompassing as love could possibly be this easy. Yet Marianne has proven him wrong each and every day that they're together, and each and every day that they're apart.

One day, there will be no more parting to say goodbye, but good night. In the meantime, he'll cherish the moments they have together, brief as they might be. They reach their carriage, and Claude turns the doorknob, gesturing for Marianne to enter. 

“Are you ready?” 

Marianne nods. “I'm always ready to go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at @gautired on twitter! feel free to [rt](https://twitter.com/gautired/status/1245408387648458753) this fic if you enjoyed it. thanks for reading!


End file.
